


Don't I Know You?

by BigScaryDinos



Category: The Haunting of Bly Manor (TV)
Genre: Bad Puns, F/M, First Meetings, I'm Bad At Tagging, Memories, Memory Loss, No Plot/Plotless, Not Beta Read, One Shot, Sad, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:07:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28133658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigScaryDinos/pseuds/BigScaryDinos
Summary: Hannah has a feeling they have met before.xxbeing "tucked away" can hurt your heart.
Relationships: Hannah Grose/Owen Sharma
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Don't I Know You?

The glass crashing to the floor brings her back into her body. 

“Oh my god. I am so sorry.” The words glide over her even as her breath is taken away for a second. The previously held apples bounce like rubber balls across the floor of the grocer. She stoops to pick them up and finds her hand catching against skin, a chance meeting over the red fruit. 

“It’s okay.” She smiles, she doesn't look up, doesn’t meet the offenders eyes. It really is okay, the apples are fine she’s sure. She should have been more careful. She can always grab more if these are bruised. 

“Shit, no. Sorry. That was practically assault, my bump.” 

“No, it is okay. Absolutely okay. I mean you had it much worse.” Hannah eyes the milk, spilled on the tiles. She catches a glance of the stranger in the reflective pool. It strikes her as odd. Milk shouldn’t be like that; she thinks. She wonders where everyone else is, it seemed there were hundreds of people bustling around her only seconds ago and now it’s these two strangers inside a puddle of ruined milk and damaged fruit. 

“I suppose, no use crying over spilled milk.” He has a wonderful laugh that sounds the way honey tastes. Rich and warm. She wants to tell him not to get cut on the glass, but he makes no motion to pick up the shards. She doesn’t either. She fumbles with the fruit in her hand, finally tucking it into the net bag over her shoulder. She chances a look directly at the man. 

“Don’t I know you?”

_**o** _

The children called it being tucked away, Hannah felt it was more a trap than a tucking. Tucking reminded her of being a child herself, strong hands gently fixing strands of hair and brushing them from her face. The warmth of a clean blanket tugged up to her neck. Not at all this. 

_**o**_

Hannah stood with soft flakes piling up at her feet. She hadn’t prepared for snow and the soles of her sneakers were saturated but this had been the final stop. She had only needed a few more things for Miles. She knew exactly what and where to get them, but somewhere between the drive into town and the long lines inside the stores she had gotten caught up. Now her hands weighted down like iron bars with too many packages. To set them down inside the muddy snow beside her car would be criminal.

“Let me get that for you!” A voice from over her shoulder, drifting into her ear like a familiar song. “Wow, what a woman. Wonder woman with all those bags!” 

Hannah wanted to look over her shoulder, inside her head she thought of warnings against men near open trunks. Women pushed inside and driven away for ransom or something even more sinister. This man, he seemed different. She knew him - she understood. From where, her brain turned to fog. 

A hand shot out from beside her before she even knew he was there, his glove covered fingers working the trunk latch deftly, as if he had always done this. 

“Once I saw a one armed man at the second hand store.” He states, and Hannah can’t seem to bring her head up and around, swiveling on her neck. She feels a joint is broken inside her and she does smile, if only to the rear of her vehicle. “Told him he wouldn’t find what he was looking for.” 

Hannah laughs. The trunk pops open and the yawning maw of darkness looks at the top of them. 

“That’s awful.” She says and she means it. “Thank you for the help. I have heard better jokes from children.” 

“Fair point. Not exactly a joke. A real life true story. Honest. Swear to god.” He cracks and laughs. He sighs. He’s close enough that Hannah without turning can see a cloud of air puff from his lips. “I do miss you though.” 

“Miss me?” Hannah repeats, confusion plain on her face. She’s struck with deja vu. She has been here before, the same snowy street, the same bad jokes. She unloads the packages into the trunk and feels the joint inside her mend. She can turn, unleaden finally. 

She gasps. 

“Don’t I know you?” 

  
  


_**o** _

Hannah wonders when it all started. These dreams that aren't dreams. She wakes up and can’t remember the details, only the awful feeling that she is missing something inside of her. It feels like a hole inside her chest with wind blowing through constantly. 

**_o_ **

  
  


“Compliments to the chef.” She hums, feeling like a fat cat and perfectly content. She had been eager to try this place since she had heard such praise from Henry. He rarely even acknowledges anything, let alone enough to give something praise. A compliment was rarer than seeing a shooting star. 

Hannah holds a wine glass, nearly empty between her fingers and leans into the comfortable chair. The wood is solid and reassuring. It feels safe beneath her, She feels as if she’s eaten her weight in gold for how delicious the meal was. Best she’d ever had she’s sure. 

Two hands, scrubbed and pink come into focus to take the plate with only the smallest slice of pickle left. 

“Well I’d say I’m kind of a big dill then.” Something inside Hannah freezes, stops still. The noise of the restaurant has fallen away. She knows if she looks from side to side it would be empty, abandoned. She isn’t sure where everyone is whisked away to, but she understands it doesn’t matter. 

She can’t bring herself to turn her face, she knows the minute she sees the man full on she will understand it like she always does. She will know his name, his face, his characteristics. She will know him. She will wonder where this false memory comes from. She will be filled with regret for the things she wasn’t able to do. So she doesn’t look. 

“Hannah, come now. It’s not so bad. We have these right?” They do. They have these moments. These little day dreams where Hannah is tucked away into situations she will never find herself a part of. She feels sad for herself, sad for this unnamed man who is safe from her if only she doesn’t meet his eyes. She wants to tell him she can’t keep doing this. It’s pulling her apart from the inside out and each time she feels there is less of herself left. 

“We do.” She sees the teardrops stain the table cloth before she feels them on her face. 

“Don’t be sad, nothing to be sad about.” His voice is calm, reassuring. His hands put the plate back down in front of her, then it’s gone inside a wisp of smoke as if it were never there. His hand is on her arm. It feels too real to be false. He is almost really here. If only this was real, Hannah sobs without making a sound. His fingers are smooth and gentle. They feel like fingers she could memorize, front and back. Fingers she could love, if given the chance. “Come now, say your bit. You’re up, love.” 

Hannah doesn’t want to. She wants to sit in this chair feeling far too nice, feeling full from delicious food with red wine lingering on the tip of her tongue. She wants this man to hold her arm and she wants to learn everything about him without looking. She can’t help herself, her neck moves against her will and she finds his eyes. Her heart breaks.

“Don’t I know you?” 

  
  
  



End file.
